If you ever come back
by HayleyStarr
Summary: John can't deal with Sherlock's Death, it's to much for him, he is having nightmares, can't decide if Sherlock was a fraud or not. He realizes Sherlock is the only person who he can't live without. Can he get through his day to day life without thinking of that Consulting detective? (Set after reichenbach fall) Contains Depressing themes, suicide, anger, doesn't have a happy end.
1. Chapter 1

"It's been 2 months since my best friend… Sherlock Holmes… committed suicide." John thought as he stared at the front door of 221B Baker Street.

"And this will be the first time I have been back to this house," he closed his eyes "Our house."

His hands trembled as he pulled his key out of his pocket and went to open the door. If he had the choice he would have never returned here, this place had too many memories of the man he had once called his best friend. But he couldn't sleep on his sister's sofa forever, they had never gotten along and with John in his depressed state she didn't know how to deal with him so she had to kick him out.

The only option John had was to return here. Mrs Hudson had agreed to let John pay the same amount of rent as he had been paying when Sherlock still lived here.

He walked into the building and up to his old apartment. Walking into the living room was almost too much to bear for him; his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Everything was still exactly the same as he had last seen it, Sherlock's desk still a total mess of paper from the last case he was trying to solve, the smiley face on the wall riddled with bullet holes still leered down at him and the kitchen was still full of all of his bizarre science equipment. The only difference was a thick layer of dust which stuck to everything and hung in the air moving as he did.

"What did you think it would look like you fool?" He whispered to himself as he buried his face into his hands trying not to cry. A part of John had hoped things would look a little different as if somehow Sherlock had returned and taken some of his belongings and then fled. But no. Sherlock Holmes was dead. He will never return.

John couldn't accept this.

He stood up, suddenly in a military straight fashion and decided to do something proactive. He pulled open the curtains causing dust to swirl in the air. He ignored it and then moved to start tidying the flat. He tried not to think as he went. Just put one foot in front of the other, take each task as it comes and clean the house. "What would Sherlock make of all this dust?" he shook his head at the thought and continued cleaning.

John didn't know where the time had gone, before he knew it the street outside had become dark and still. He checked the time on his phone, "3:35am… when did it get this late?" he mumbled to himself and started to wander to his bedroom in a bit of a daze. He got a shook when he realised he had walked straight into Sherlock's room without even thinking. He froze not sure what to do; his bed looked hardly slept in, though that was Sherlock, he never slept if he could help it.

Without thinking John walked over to Sherlock's bed and got into it. He knew this was weird, him and his friend had never been romantically inclined, and if Sherlock was still alive he would never even come in his room. But he missed him so much, the bed had a faint Sherlock scent to it and this sent John over the edge. He had managed to hold back really crying over Sherlock's death all this time but he couldn't take it now, he broke down.

"Please Sherlock one more miracle," he pleaded with the darkness, "just for me," he sobbed harder,

"Don't… be…dead," he wrapped his arms around his chest as if to hold himself together. "I know I've asked over and over but please… for me…" he whispered and his breath hitched in his throat and uncontrollable sobbing took over.

That night John's sleep was riddled with horrible images of Sherlock's suicide, over and over again he fell and over and over again John failed to save him. He woke suddenly screaming "Sherlock!" looking franticly around the unfamiliar room before he calmed down and started to cry again. This was the start of his nightmares. Every night he would see Sherlock fall and every time be unable to save the man he had come to realise was the only person he couldn't live without.

* * *

6 months have passed since the great consulting detective fell out of John's life. He had gotten into a routine to get him through the day and night. Every morning when he woke up he forced himself out of bed and made breakfast, but he always made two plates. Just in case.

Then he would take a shower and after sit in his arm chair staring at Sherlock's occasionally he would sit there trying to persuade him to come back like he is in the same room.

He would then leave for work, but always leaving the hall light on and a key under the mat. Just in case.

Work was tedious and boring, and made even worse that he now worked at Bart's hospital, the same place where Sherlock had died. It was the only place he could find a job, and he needed the money.

Every day was the same. Nothing every changed, except his nightmares. They were getting worse. John now felt he could have saved the detective, and the only reason Sherlock had to die was because of him.

But this wasn't the worse part of John's new outlook, he was starting to doubt Sherlock. He would spend most nights arguing with himself, shouting and screaming that Sherlock was not a fraud and then change his mind, start on a rampage through the apartment to try and find evidence to prove Sherlock had fabricated any of the crimes he had ever worked on. But he found nothing and would always wind up wrapped up in ball of Sherlock's bedding and sobbing.

* * *

9 months have passed and John was starting to give up on Sherlock ever coming back.

He had stopped laying out 2 plates in the morning, had removed the key from under the mat and never left the light on. He was truly beaten by the death of his best friend and knew there was only one way to fix the pain.

* * *

"Almost one year has passed since he left me here, tomorrow will be the anniversary of his death," John spoke to the empty living room.

"I have something special planed for tonight, I won't have to suffer this pain anymore" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before stepping out of his seat and heading to work.

That day at work he handed in his notice and told them he wouldn't be coming back. He already had what he needed from the hospital, and it was back in the apartment waiting for him.

He managed to make it home before breaking down that night. He sat in his chair, with the syringe which would end his life in front of him and next to that his phone sat. He thought to himself that surely if Sherlock was still alive he would somehow stop him from doing this.

But he stared at his phone until 2am and nothing happened. He just watched, motionless, hoping something would happen. But nothing did. "Well I suppose the pain will be over soon" he whispered, with a tear trickling down his face "I'll be able to see you soon Sherlock."

He rolled his shirt sleeve up and picked up the syringe from the table.

The needle pushed into his vein with ease and precision from years of medical training he knew he had the right spot. The liquid in the syringe was a much higher dosage than any human could survive but John didn't plan to survive this.

As the plunger went down John closed his eyes feeling the liquid make its way into his blood stream. Once it was all in he pulled out the syringe. He knew he had only minutes left. He picked up his phone and sent one final text to Sherlock's old phone number:

'I've done it Sherlock, See you soon - JW'

John held it tight in his hand, not wanting to let go of his only line to Sherlock but as he drifted out of consciousness it fell to the floor. He closed his eyes feeling the chemical taking effect.

And that was it. John was gone, all life had left him and he was free from his pain.

* * *

Moments after John had passed on his phone vibrated and a message appeared on the screen:

'Open the door John, I'm home - SH'


	2. Chapter 2

He started with something simple. "I am Sherlock Holmes." There, that was a definite fact. 100% true and he knew it.

Next something still simple. "I live at 221B Baker Street." He thought for a moment before speaking to the ceiling again "My landlady is Mrs Hudson."

Something a little more complex now "a year ago I faked my own death and went into hiding."

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly, that's where this all started, his very own Reichenbach fall. His fall from grace and his first step away from John. His second step away was not telling John, he didn't want to put him in danger. Couldn't even risk putting him in harm's way, John was the reason he was doing all of this.

"John is dead," he whispered. This was the point he could never believe. It made his world warp around him and his brain go blank. Sherlock couldn't think anymore, every time he tried to explain a case or deduce anything, he would go to turn to John and ask for his partner's opinion but his partner wasn't there anymore. He needed a partner.

He needed John, nobody could replace him ever.

2 weeks ago Sherlock had decided to return to John's life. 2 minutes too late.

* * *

2 Weeks ago:

Sherlock pulled out his phone and saw he had a message:

'I've done it Sherlock, See you soon - JW'

"Done it? Done what John?" he was baffled by the message. John hadn't tried to contact him this whole time and suddenly he had a message from him. It had been sent only a few minutes before so he quickly replied with a message of his own:

'Open the door John, I'm home - SH'

Sherlock waited a couple of minutes but nothing. He took a few steps back and looked up at the windows to his old flat, there was a small light but no movement. John was there but not answering, was he asleep? What did his message mean?

For the first time in his life Sherlock was unsure of himself. He was worried.

Without a second thought he ran at the door to 221B and broke down the door. Adrenaline was pumping through his blood; he could feel it in his ears. A quick glance around showed him one thing, Mrs Hudson was away and no one else except John was in the building.

This caused Sherlock to panic even more. What was John doing?

He ran upstairs and into their living room but he stopped when he saw John in his arm chair, he looked like he was sleeping but there was something very wrong with this picture. His body position was wrong, the way his arms were positioned on the chair with his phone a few feet away from his hand.

He walked up to him, slowly and whispered "John?" his voice cracked as he spoke. He already knew what he was going to find. He had seen it some often on crime scenes.

John was dead.

He ran to his side, checked his pulse, shook him. He was still warm, maybe there was a chance to save him. He looked around panicking, for some kind of sign to how John had taken his life.

Sherlock spotted the syringe on the table and lunged for it. He cracked the glass open and sniffed at it carefully. He gently put the syringe back down on the table and crumpled to the floor. He had known what it would be the moment he saw the object. He knew John well enough to know he would have known exactly how much of this chemical to give to a human to kill them.

There was no known cure for it being injected straight into the blood stream.

Sherlock had decided to text Lestrade after an hour of silence and no movement.

'221B Baker Street. _Come_ at once _if convenient_. If inconvenient, _come_ all the same. - SH'

He knew this would cause instant chaos. It had been exactly one year to the day he had supposedly jumped of Bart's Hospital and committed suicide. And now the great consulting detective was back. The only reason he had come back was for John and John was dead.

Lestrade had turned up within 15 minutes. He walked into the living room and when he laid eyes on Sherlock he froze, not believing his eyes. But then he saw John and knew the questions could wait.

The ambulance turned up and pronounced John dead at the scene.

Sherlock locked himself in his room once everyone had left and refused to come out to speak to anyone. So Lestrade took up residence on the sofa for the rest of the night, trying to make sure Sherlock didn't go anywhere.

Sherlock stood leaning against the door for what felt like hours, when he finally was able to move he was stiff and the sun was starting to rise. Looking down at his bed, it was a total mess. Sherlock frowned and leant to so sniff the bed sheets. The bed smelt like John, why had John been in his bed? Had he missed Sherlock that much?

For the first time since he had discovered his best friend's body he started to cry. And then he started to scream. He started tearing around his room ripping pictures off the wall and pulling clothes out of the dresser, ripping them apart. He smashed his bedroom window in his fit of rage and then Lestrade came bursting in.

"SHERLOCK!" He shouted and ran over to grab the man who had now crumpled to the floor with blood dripping down both his arms. Sherlock just sat there sobbing occasionally whispering John's name.

* * *

Sherlock kept staring at the ceiling "Please John do one more thing for me," he pleaded with the room, "just for me," he began to cry "Come back, or I'll have to follow you."

He started scratching at his stiches he had received 2 weeks ago after destroying his window.

And then it clicked. He could easily see what he had to do. He had to follow John.

It was over now.

(~~I'm sorry! This is a horrible story, I plan to write an alternative ending at some point soon with a much MUCH happier ending so look out for it please! And review,

I know this is short but it hurt to much to write Sherlock being so sad, It made me sad D:

Please let me know what you think and how I could improve!

I need all the help i can get.

Dedicated to zombie4play Hope you enjoy it my lovely xx)


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